


Christmas in the Bunker

by DestielTheShipOfDreams



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Castiel in the Bunker, Christmas Fluff, Christmas Presents, Christmas in the Bunker, First Christmas, I'm Bad At Titles, M/M, POV Multiple, POV Second Person, Sam Winchester Ships Castiel/Dean Winchester
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-06-06
Updated: 2017-06-06
Packaged: 2018-11-09 22:15:21
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,712
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11113974
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/DestielTheShipOfDreams/pseuds/DestielTheShipOfDreams
Summary: Castiel is part of the family, so a family Christmas is in order! This was my first ever destiel fic from back in the day on ff.net :3





	Christmas in the Bunker

**Author's Note:**

> This is set in my (and Dean's) fantasy world where Cas stays with the boys and doesn't run off trying to prove himself or wallow in self-loathing :( it doesn't really fit anywhere in particular in the canon.

 

**_Cas_ **

__

You don’t really understand this whole festive thing, or at least, you don’t understand why your boys are buying into it. They’re not what would usually be called devout, so the rather inaccurate religious beliefs - Christian, pagan or otherwise - tied to the day shouldn’t affect them. They’re not superficial people, so the commercial and materialistic culture surrounding the event shouldn’t sway them. They do believe in family, but something about their grim, determined grip on the concept doesn’t really match up with the cheerful images conjured by the ‘season of giving’.

 

Still, despite all your questions and doubts, it’s happening: the Winchesters are having a ‘proper’ Christmas and you’re expected to help out and join in, because you’re ‘part of the family’. You have to admit that you felt ridiculously happy when Dean said that to you as he was explaining their Christmas plans, but still...

 

Maybe you should be excited about celebrating Christmas. You’re certainly curious enough about what it’ll be like. Maybe you should be absolutely thrilled.

 

Maybe, except you’ve been given shopping duty, and the list makes no sense at all. You’ve been wandering around the shopping mall for two hours now and all you have to show for it is a trail of confused store assistants, an oversized light-up tree-shaped garden ornament and a bag of discounted Halloween candy.

 

That, and a new appreciation for the sheer variety of savoury biscuits available to the public. You spent a long time searching for crackers that were specifically Christmas-themed and you’re quite proud that you managed to find some cream crackers with Santa-related imagery on the packaging, without even asking the store assistant that time.

 

You stare helplessly at the next item on the list as you heft the six-foot two-dimensional tree higher under your arm. It’s not heavy for you, but it’s hard to maneuver. The item is in Sam’s neat cursive and says ‘door wreath’ but it’s half scribbled over by Dean’s untidy block lettering: ‘NOT THAT TACKY SHIT’. You blink at it. Thanks to your exposure to colloquial language, you’re fairly sure that ‘shit’ doesn’t mean faecal matter here. But what does ‘tacky’ mean in this context, and what is a door wreath in the first place? Where does one purchase such a thing?

 

You sigh and trudge towards a hair and beauty salon. You haven’t tried them yet.

 

 

**_Dean_ **

__

Christmas is never a happy time for you. It’s a time for neat little families and people with long, fat lives ahead of them. That’s never been you or yours.

 

The only Christmases you can remember enjoying are a couple of decent ones with Sam, obviously including the one when he gave you that stupid amulet. Then there was the one a few years back, when you’d celebrated with him in your own odd way; that ended up being sort of... sweet. Not that you’d describe it that way out loud. Christmas with Lisa and Ben is a bittersweet memory. It was awesome, but you felt so out of place with her parents over, carving up the turkey as though you hadn’t watched a tutorial on it that morning, pulling crackers, smiling and laughing but thinking of Sammy stuck in Hell the entire time.

 

Still, this Christmas things seem pretty calm and settled. So when Sam approached you on December 15th and casually suggested actually celebrating the holiday... well, you figured, why not? Sam had found some boxes of vintage decorations in some storeroom, may as well use them. Besides, you kind of wanted Cas to feel properly like part of the family, and what screams ‘family’ more than Christmas?

 

So here you are, December 18th, up on a stepladder in the library, taping ancient, dusty tinsel to the walls. Sam dragged in a freshly cut tree from the nearby woods this morning, and he’s currently sweeping up the fallen needles, having finally managed to get the thing upright and secured in the corner.

 

Cas is slumped in a chair, glaring at the terrible light-up Christmas tree sitting next to him. He got back from his shopping trip half an hour ago and seemed very frustrated with the whole experience. Bless. You tried to tell him that the garden ornament was a great buy but you were sniggering the whole time, then outright laughing when Sam carefully explained that by ‘tree ornaments’ he’d meant baubles and bells and maybe an angel or star for the top.

 

“Definitely an angel,” you interjected at that point. “Cas, you wouldn’t mind climbing up there for a couple of weeks, would ya buddy?”

 

You cracked up laughing, ignoring Sam’s expert eye rolling. Cas looked apprehensive and apologetic.

 

“I would mind a little, Dean... Could we get a small false image of an angel instead? I saw some of those at the shops, I think. I doubt the tree top would support my weight and-”

 

“Cas,” Sam interrupted, speaking over your cackling. “Dean is being a dick again. Ignore him.”

 

Cas did just that, but you haven’t stopped chuckling for a good ten minutes.

 

 

**_Sam_ **

__

You can’t believe that Dean said yes. Christmas at last! A real, proper one in a place that can be called home, even if you still have reservations about getting too attached. You can’t help smiling as you put on the one Christmas record you found amongst the Men of Letters’ collection, old-fashioned choir music. You adjust the Santa hat on your head and hum along as you sit down with a beer, admiring your hard work.

 

The tree is finally decorated, with that terrible light-up version standing next to it like a ghastly shadow. You thanked Cas profusely for his shopping efforts and then went out the next day and bought everything correctly. That was yesterday and today you’ve perfected your seasonal masterpiece. The tree is wrapped in several sets of lights and covered with even more matching sets of baubles. On top there’s a golden star, to which Dean has gleefully taped a worn, much-folded photo of Cas, staring intensely at the camera. You thought about asking why Dean had a personal photo of the angel in his private possession but as always, you let it slide.

 

Cas himself wanders in at that precise moment and you grin as he stops to take in the tree. His eyes widen in wonder and you think that this alone is worth the effort; Cas is always so appreciative and it’s great to introduce him to fun human stuff like Christmas.

 

It’s as you’re discussing the finer points of bauble placement with Cas that your brother strolls in too, carrying a plate with a grilled cheese sandwich on it. You wait hopefully for him to compliment your decorating skills, but as usual when Cas is in the room, his eyes are on the angel. He glances at the tree and sits down, taking a messy bite of his meal.

 

“So Cas,” he says casually through the food. “Notice anything about the tree?”

 

You shake your head in fond exasperation. Dean is way too pleased with himself about this lame joke. Cas begins to patiently list the different colours and shapes of the baubles and you interrupt him, telling him that Dean means the star on top. Your brother scowls at you. You always ruin his jokes, he says, but in your opinion they’re pretty ruined from the start. Cas looks up at the star and you wait for him to say that he doesn’t get it. Instead, he stares for a moment before his face cracks into a delighted smile. He begins to laugh.

 

“An angel on top of the tree! Dean, that’s pretty funny.”

 

Dean couldn’t look more pleased. You groan quietly and down the rest of your beer.

 

 

**_Cas_ **

__

It’s already Christmas Eve and you’ve only just finished sorting out your presents for Sam and Dean. You’ve missed your wings countless times since losing them, but never as fervently as you do now. Gift-sourcing would have been much easier with the entire planet available for browsing.

 

Having quickly wrapped the presents and placed them carefully under the tree, you head into the kitchen, hearing faint music coming from it. Dean is in there, a box of breadcrumbs in his hand, his laptop showing a recipe for stuffing and playing a lively song. It’s a female voice and it’s clearly a Christmas-themed tune about rejecting gifts in favour of winning the affections of a loved one. Dean’s back is to you but you can hear him singing along to the song, his voice slightly off-key but generally pleasant:

 

“Oh, I won’t ask for much this Christmas... I won’t even wish for snow...”

 

He measures out the breadcrumbs as he sings and shakes in some herbs. You lean against the door frame, tilting your head. You used to turn invisible sometimes just to watch him, but once he knew about that he told you not to, quite reasonably really. It’s nice to just observe him again. He’s your favourite thing to observe, after all.

 

“I won’t make a list and send it... To the North Pole for St Nick...”

 

His voice his getting louder and more tuneful. He grabs a pot from the stove and pours whatever’s inside - you can smell onions and butter and more herbs - into the mixing bowl, then begins to stir vigourously.

 

“’Cause I just want you here tonight... Holding onto me so tight...”

 

You smile softly. Straightening up, you move forward, intending to offer your help with food preparation.

 

“Baby, all I want for Christmas, is y-”

 

Dean swings around suddenly and you end up almost nose-to-nose, his singing cutting off with a small yelp. You cock your head and stare at him quizzically. His green eyes are comically wide and his lips are still pursed around the word ‘you’, the word echoing in the air even as the song continues in the background.

 

“Thank you, Dean,” you say in a serious tone. “But I’m already here, so I got you another present too.”

 

You wink carefully at him, pleased at your successful use of humour. He goes a really lovely shade of pink and you admire the colour for a moment before he steps back, frowning heavily at you.

 

“Very funny,” he snaps. You smile wider; you think so too.

 

 

**_Dean_ **

__

Christmas day has arrived, and with it comes presents. The three of you gather around the tree, all wearing Santa hats at Sam’s insistence. You’ve bought Sam a new external hard drive since his old one was getting temperamental, and a hot pink sweatband for when he works out.

 

“To match your pretty hair,” you smirk. He gives you the most unimpressed look you’ve ever seen. His gift is a luxury car care set for Baby and a pair of thick bed socks with cartoon reindeer on them. You grin, genuinely pleased, and quickly pull the socks on.

 

Cas and Sam exchange presents next; Sam’s got a leather bound journal, because the soppy bastard likes to record his feelings like a girl. Cas excitedly opens his own gift: a new silk tie, red and green striped, and another set of bed socks, this time with cartoon snowmen. Cas puts both things on at once, handling them reverently.

 

Next is you and Cas. You’re way more nervous than you should be. You unwrap yours first.

 

He’s bought you a box, just an empty wooden box with a velvet lining. However, it’s been carved extensively and quite beautifully. You examine the symbols and he starts talking fast.

 

“Protective Enochian runes. They’re very ancient and they should stop just about anything from entering or damaging the box. Sorry it’s not bigger-”

 

You lean across and stop him by placing a hand on his knee, your expression serious.

 

“Cas, I love it. Thanks, man.”

 

He gazes at you, eyes shining and you clear your throat, pulling back and gesturing to the gift from you. He sets to unwrapping it.

 

You spent forever wracking your brains over this; what do you even get an angel? Eventually you framed a nice picture of the three of you together. The photo is a bit old, taken at Bobby’s. Cas is in the middle, grinning for once because you’d just ruffled his hair. Sam is smiling innocently but has his fingers stuck up behind the angel’s head. You’re not even looking at the camera; you’re laughing at Cas, beer in your hand and arm around his shoulders.

 

Cas stares down at the photo for several seconds and then he looks up, blue eyes overly bright but smile radiant. He makes such a picture with that damn Santa hat that you wish you could frame him too.

 

“Thank you,” he says sincerely, voice a little rough. “I’m not sure where I’m going to put it, but... Thank you.”

 

You take a deep breath. Now comes the real present.

 

“You can put it in your room,” you say in a rush. “It’s the one opposite the bathroom. Sam and I got it ready for you, TV and bookshelf and everything... If you want it. I know you don’t sleep, but you should have a place here.”

 

Cas’s jaw goes slack and you grin at Sam. You’re not bad at this gifting thing.

 

 

**_Sam_ **

__

Christmas lunch was one hell of a feast and the three of you are barely able to move. Cas is hit especially hard because he’s not used to eating at all. You know that questionable movies on TV are the correct way to spend Christmas afternoon, so you suggest breaking in Cas’s new room and using the television in there.

 

The bed is only a double but you and Dean had the foresight to drag a sofa in there too when you were setting it up. You immediately claim it, watching with merciless amusement as your brother awkwardly settles on the bed next to Cas. He twitches as his knee brushes the angel’s and Cas gives him a subtle sideways glance. You snigger silently, congratulating yourself on your own excellent strategy.

 

They haven’t noticed the small sprig of mistletoe above the bed yet, but you’ve made a point of explaining privately to Cas how deeply important it is to always, ALWAYS observe the tradition of kissing under the mistletoe. You know it’s a little mean of you but really, you can’t take being surrounded by any more of these ridiculous caged in feelings if Cas is going to be living with you. The one time you tried to actually bring it up with Dean he stubbornly pretended not to understand and it got way too awkward really quickly.

 

‘Nightmare before Christmas’ is on TV and Dean groans but you admonish him, pointing out that Cas hasn’t seen it. He quietens grudgingly. Cas makes all the appropriate noises as well as pointing out logical problems and solutions as he watches. Dean smiles fondly and then shushes you when you try to explain that it’s just a film, it doesn’t need to make sense. You give him a ‘really?’ look and he blushes. Bless.

 

You make it until the final scene before you decide that you’re tired of watching Dean stare at Cas’s profile, clearly unaware that he’s even doing it. He looks sickeningly wistful and conflicted and really, if you wanted to read a Mills and Boon novel you wouldn’t have chucked your secret collection out when you moved to college. Rolling your eyes so hard they hurt, you stretch and unfold yourself from the sofa. Cas and Dean both look at you questioningly.

 

“I’m falling asleep,” you lie. You walk to the doorway and pause with your hand on the doorknob. Holding back a smile and hoping that the power of suppressed sexual tension will overcome Dean’s hang ups, you casually throw back over your shoulder: “By the way guys, mistletoe above you.”

 

You shut the door quickly and practically jog down the hall, only just hearing Dean’s muffled ‘mmmph!’ of surprise. Closing your own bedroom door and throwing yourself onto your bed, you open the first page of your new journal.

 

‘Mission accomplished’ you write with a flourish, and you make a mental note to ring up Jody later. She owes you twenty bucks.


End file.
